


Redial

by Crazy_Dumpling



Category: Super Junior-M
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Unresolved Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/pseuds/Crazy_Dumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How a football match, a thunderstorm, and a Jay Chou song help to bridge the gap between Wuhan and Taipei.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redial

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A short glossary of Chinese terms (if you need it):  
> ge, gege - older brother  
> baijiu - Chinese rice wine. This is seriously strong stuff.

His phone rings while everyone’s gathered in the large communal living room in the dorms, watching TV. Ryeowook has tried his hand at making more sweet and sour pork, so the rest of the members have been requisitioned as taste testers. Kyuhyun and Henry sit on the large couch in front of the TV, munching under Ryeowook’s watchful gaze. From the kitchen comes the sound of running water and Sungmin’s high-pitched laughter as he and Hyukjae attempt to wash dishes. Donghae and Siwon are out filming.

Zhou Mi is about to reach out and nab a piece of pork from Kyuhyun’s bowl (“Argh, no! Get your own!”) when his mobile starts vibrating and playing a fast-paced Jay Chou track. It’s a song he hasn’t heard in a while; he’s only assigned it to one person on his contact list, and he hasn’t been expecting a call from that number for what feels like an eternity. The song’s bass line grows louder, more insistent, and Kyuhyun throws him a dirty look.

“Mi! Answer your damn phone so we can watch the football, huh?”

Zhou Mi is about to reply and tell him that the game hasn’t even started yet, Kui Xian, so shut up, but Henry frowns at him too. The expression on his face is curious, more than irritated, as if he’s trying to work something out but can’t quite fit the pieces together.

“Hey, wait. I’ve heard that song before! Isn’t that the one we heard, that one night in China when —”

Just as he’s about to say where he remembers it from, Zhou Mi hurriedly thumbs the answer button and presses the phone tight against his ear. His mouth suddenly goes dry; he’s been thinking about this moment for so long, ever since they last spoke nearly eight months ago. Then, Zhou Mi had been prepared with a list, and he’d only got through two points out of a possible sixteen when the call had ended, because they’d both had to dash off for more items on their already over-packed schedules.

Now? Well. Now he’s not prepared at all; they’ve all just come home from a tiring day filming a variety show and acting up for the cameras, and he’s exhausted at having to be the impromptu leader of Super Junior M, translating Sungmin’s shaky grammar, poking fun at Eunhyuk’s one line of Mandarin and making excuses for Donghae and Siwon.

This really isn’t how it’s meant to go. But he clears his throat and hopes his voice is steady.

“Hello?”

“Hi?” The person on the other end of the line sounds so far away, the sound of his voice muffled with a blanket of static. “Mi? You there?”

“Yeah,” Zhou Mi says, a bit more loudly than he means to, because Kyuhyun elbows him in the side. Apparently kick-off time is getting closer.

“Don’t spill your food!” Ryeowook shrieks, just as an almighty crash rings out from the kitchen, and they all hear Hyukjae say wow, that wasn’t meant to fall down so easily.

Zhou Mi decides this is as good a time as any to make his escape.

“Hang on a moment,” he mutters. Gets off the couch just as Sungmin and Hyukjae emerge from the kitchen, covered in soap suds. Zhou Mi runs to his bedroom, the sound of Ryeowook scolding his hyungs ringing in his ears while Kyuhyun calls them all bastards. He thinks for a moment and locks the door behind him. “Sorry. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Han Geng answers, his voice suddenly clearer. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, you know: Wookie’s trying to pretend he’s a housewife. Kyu’s being difficult because he thinks a football match is a matter of life and death. Min and Hyuk are breaking all the plates in the kitchen. Normal things.”

A short laugh. “Nothing’s changed, obviously.”

“No,” Zhou Mi says. _Yes_ , he thinks, walking over to the window. _Too many things have changed._ The view is of a utility courtyard, but at least it gives his tired eyes something to focus on. “Where are you now?”

“You can’t even guess.”

“Huh.” Zhou Mi pushes the window open. Cool night air rushes into his room, and he is grateful for small mercies. “Chengdu? Taking in the modern wonders of our great nation? Shanghai, and you’re just calling to tell me you maxed out your tenth credit card? It’s definitely not Beijing, because I can’t hear your mother asking you to stop talking and do some work. Maybe you’re in Sichuan, and you’re scared to eat the hotpot because you saw some waiter spit into the soup?”

He doesn’t mean to ramble, but nervousness makes him say the most inane things to cancel out the possibility of silence.

Han Geng only snorts, and with a twinge of longing, Zhou Mi can picture the look on his face; incredulous but indulgent. As if Zhou Mi was a particularly interesting little kitten Han Geng had just happened to come across.

“Try somewhere more familiar to you,” he chides. “Think — why would I ask you to guess where I was?”

“Wuhan?” Zhou Mi ventures, his heart suddenly heavy with homesickness. He can picture his mother’s smile as he walks in the door and sets his bag down. Can smell the scent of her slow-cooked chicken with red dates and herbs. He hasn’t been home in over a year.

Another little chuckle. A sudden breeze blows in Zhou Mi’s face and he backs away from the window, sits down heavily on his bed.

“If you’re in Wuhan, Geng ge, I —”

“You what?” Han Geng interrupts. “You’d fly over here to see me? Show me to your family?”

“They all know who you are,” Zhou Mi sniffs. He tries not to think about seeing Han Geng again. They haven’t met up since the lawsuit; Zhou Mi just hasn’t been able to get away from the company long enough. Then there were the scheduling conflicts, the reporters, the news cameras. “They kept calling me to ask how you were.”

“Oh.”

And there it is. The pained, awkward silence that Zhou Mi’s been dreading. He reaches out and fingers the worn metal of the window sill, stares out and upwards at the darkening sky. The heavy scent of ozone is in the air; it will rain tonight, he thinks. In the gathering dusk, the grey line of sky is tinged with the dirty yellow of the setting sun.

“Mi.” Hang Geng’s voice snaps Zhou Mi out of his reverie. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Zhou Mi replies. It’s a mechanical answer, repeated so many times that he almost believes himself. He’s been saying it ever since the law suit. Ever since Han Geng had walked into his room and closed the door. Zhou Mi remembers the look on Han Geng’s face and the faded grey t-shirt and jeans he wore as he swept the ground out from Zhou Mi’s feet. He recalls the jeers of the crowd at concerts, and the angry, incoherent letters from the fans that were pushed at him by embarrassed-looking employees. He wanted to hate Han Geng then, for putting him and the rest of the group through all the pain.

But he couldn’t, not really. Not when Han Geng had been the one to take him into the mad beauty that was — is — Super Junior, with all the dizzying highs and soul-crushing lows that it entailed. Han Geng had been there to show Zhou Mi around Seoul and to laugh when he despaired over finding the perfect pair of straight-cut, faded denim jeans. He had translated confusing Korean words and defended Zhou Mi against the biting remarks of those who doubted his and Henry’s place in the group. Han Geng was always there for Zhou Mi.

Han Geng had taken to the leader’s role in Super Junior-M as though he had been born to take charge of others with no more than a gentle handshake and a firm word, shepherding his charges so efficiently Jungsoo had started to jokingly worry aloud that Han Geng was trying to usurp him. Him and Zhou Mi had worked as a team, translating Chinese into Korean for the rest of the members, and Korean into Chinese for an expectant audience of fans and MCs. And it worked; Han Geng often said it was wonderful that he wasn’t the only Chinese member of the group any more, that he had someone to rely on.

Only then Han Geng had left Zhou Mi to pick up the shattered pieces of their group when he walked away with barely more than a quiet good-bye, refusing to look any of them in the eye, or to discuss why he’d decided to tell them so late. For a few days afterwards, Zhou Mi had shut himself away in his room, too distraught to come out, surviving on the ramen that Ryeowook cooked for him and determinedly forced him to eat.

Zhou Mi survived the loss, though it left scars on him. But he tells himself that he’s doing all right, really.

“No, you’re not,” Han Geng says, and it’s the same tone of voice that Zhou Mi used to hear ordering Henry to take a shower, or Kyuhyun to stop picking on Ryeowook’s cooking. There’s still the same quiet note of authority. “Mi, come on. How many hours did you sleep last night, huh?”

“Enough.” Zhou Mi feels himself go rigid and defensive. _Why do you care?_ “We had a lighter schedule today, though. Only three shows and one radio interview, and then tomorrow is a day off. The guys are all working really hard, you know. Ge, I’m just glad to be promoting again, so the work isn’t too tiring.”

“But you sound exhausted.”

“Why are you calling?” Zhou Mi asks, shrugging his shoulders and trying to flick away his irritation. “We haven’t talked for so long, and you probably don’t want to know that Hyukkie and Sungmin are trying to drive me crazy by stealing my clothes every time I tell them they need to work on their Chinese more.”

Han Geng sniggers, and Zhou Mi feels a little better. When in doubt, use humour. It seems to get Donghae out of trouble often enough.

“They’re a nightmare if you let them gang up on you.”

Zhou Mi hums in agreement, sprawls out on his bed and stares at the window, watching as dark storm clouds roll through the sky. The street lights are starting to flicker on.

Then Han Geng clears his throat. Says something in the dialect of his faraway hometown. Zhou Mi can barely hear it.

“What was that?” He says. He could work out the vague sounds of words that sounded like they might have been familiar, but nothing more. What he heard was enough to make up bolt upright, his feet hitting the floor with a loud slap.

Another short burst of laughter down the line.

“I said, I called because I wanted to hear your stupid voice again.”

Zhou Mi doesn’t know what to do with that information. He’s scared of the hope that it raises; that still-sharp splinter of _something_ that hasn’t quite disappeared, even after everything that’s happened.

*

He recalls the first time Super Junior M went to Beijing, and how one night Han Geng had taken him and Henry out for a drink at a bar one of his friends worked at, just so they could be by themselves and talk about how things were going. The bar was playing some awful dance track while they squeezed into a little corner booth, Han Geng and Zhou Mi on one side, Henry throwing himself down amongst a decorative array of pillows with a sigh of relief.

After one or two rounds of toasts with baijiu, Henry had collapsed on his heap of pillows, his arm flung over his face, snoring loudly, much to the bemusement of the bartender. Zhou Mi reached over and topped up Han Geng’s cup, then his own. They’d made up a few more toasts — to friends and family, to that girl back in Shanghai who asked for Han Geng’s number and the boy from Huzhou who had broken Zhou Mi’s heart.

Han Geng rolled his eyes when Zhou Mi started telling him the story of his first love (which was over before the boy even knew Zhou Mi was interested), but had knocked back his cup of wine anyway, his expression indulgent. The song had changed while they had been drinking, Zhou Mi remembers. Jay Chou had been replaced and the new track was slower, more sensual, with a husky female vocalist laid over a throbbing bass line. Henry continued snoring in his corner. Zhou Mi locked eyes with Han Geng, wanted to suggest another silly thing to raise their cups to, but Han Geng’s hand covered his. His skin was too warm, and Zhou Mi could smell the spicy musk of his aftershave.

“No more, Mi.”

So he put his head on Han Geng’s shoulder, listened to the singer over the feedbacking sound system moan about love and loss.

“It’s nice here,” Zhou Mi observed, his words slipping and slurring together; the day had been long and Han Geng was right; he’d drunk a few too many toasts to inconsequential bits of nonsense. But he was with Han Geng and spouting nonsense was fine, because Han Geng just listened and smiled and his smile was gorgeous and too bright and oh wow, wasn’t it nice to just sit here and drink and just talk?

“Stop thinking out loud!” Han Geng laughed, and Zhou Mi shut up, embarrassed.

The music continued playing. Henry still slumbered, his snores heavy and regular. Han Geng put his arm around Zhou Mi’s shoulders.

Without realising he’d decided to do anything, Zhou Mi lifted his head, liquid courage burning through him, and kissed Han Geng.

The problem was Zhou Mi’s drunken mind hadn’t thought about what would happen after his lips found Han Geng’s, but when Han Geng didn’t pull away and (more importantly) didn’t punch him in the face, he figured that it didn’t really matter. Especially when Han Geng’s hand wound itself in his hair, pulling him near.

Zhou Mi snuggled closer, placed a hand on Han Geng’s hip and tried to anchor himself to something solid because the world around them was quickly fading away; his awareness narrowed down to the little circle of light that surrounded Han Geng and himself. The heat flowing between them was astonishing in its ferocity.

“Thought you were never going to get the hint, you dorky idiot,” Han Geng said when they finally parted. He sounded just a bit breathless. Zhou Mi couldn’t help feeling smug.

“Ge’s a bigger idiot,” Zhou Mi murmured. “You know you could have just asked me out, right?”

“When? Every time we have a few minutes alone you always want to go shopping!”

Zhou Mi decided to kiss him. It seemed a good strategy to employ when he didn’t have a ready comeback. Han Geng’s hands slipped under his shirt, followed the line of Zhou Mi’s spine, and Zhou Mi felt himself moan into Han Geng’s mouth, his hands locked firmly around Han Geng’s waist, dragging him as close as possible. Han Geng growled — he _growled_ — and Zhou Mi was sure that nothing else in the world could ever sound as sexy as that.

“Ge.” It came out like a prayer, and Zhou Mi knew he must sound so very desperate, but Han Geng didn’t pull away. Didn’t mock or tease. Instead he slowly kissed a trail down Zhou Mi’s neck, followed the line of Zhou Mi’s collarbone with his tongue, sucking and nipping with his teeth, until Zhou Mi was sure he might die from the insane pleasure of it all.

One of Han Geng’s hands rounded the curve of Zhou Mi’s ass, pulled him forward roughly, until Zhou Mi was sitting astride Han Geng’s lap and there wasn’t anything but the clothes they wore separating them. Their gazes met, and Zhou Mi felt the breath leave his body; Han Geng’s eyes were dark with desire, his lips perfectly red and bruised. And he was all here for the taking. Zhou Mi had thought about this moment for so many nights, bedsheets twisted around his sweaty body, his cock hard and aching. He’d planned out each movement carefully, considered everything he wanted to say, but now that Han Geng was actually here, touching him like he’d always wished, all his carefully laid plans were in danger of being swept out from under him like shifting sand beneath his feet.

Zhou Mi swallowed, felt the ache of lust and a deeper need to just _be_ with Han Geng tonight, free of the constraints of schedules or public images. Just the two of them in seclusion, away from the rest of the world, even for a few fleeting moments.

“Mi,” Han Geng began earnestly, placing his hand on Zhou Mi’s thigh, the heat from his palm bleeding through thin denim. “Mi, do you want —”

In a spectacular display of bad timing (which Zhou Mi has never quite forgiven him for) Henry chose that crucial moment to wake up. He rolled over the pillows and bumped into the table before staggering to his feet, all the while yawning excessively. Zhou Mi felt Han Geng nudge him away and mourned the loss of what little intimacy they’d been able to snatch.

“Aw, man, I’m never letting you guys talk me into drinking that stuff again.” Henry rubbed his eyes blearily, noticed Zhou Mi glowering at him. “What? What’d I do this time, Mimi? How long was I out? Ge, did I snore? Was I drooling??”

He touched the corners of his mouth, comically concerned and looking barely old enough to stay out this late. Next to Zhou Mi, Han Geng burst out laughing, the sound of it obliterating any potential awkwardness between the three of them. He slid out of the booth and stood up, threw an arm around Henry’s shoulders. Zhou Mi tried not to notice.

“Gege is taking you home now, Henry,” he said heavily. “Your snoring was putting the other patrons off their drinks. And you drooled all over the pillows. Got to take you back to the dorms before you decide you want to start dancing on the bartop and scaring all the nice young ladies.”

“What? No way! I would never do that. Also, I don’t need to dance on a bartop to scare —”

“It’s true, Henry,” Zhou Mi chirped, his good humour returning. Henry looked as though he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground. “We were scared we’d have to leave you here with your violin to work off the bar tab.”

Henry broke free of Han Geng’s grasp, scowling. “Ha ha. Very funny, guys.”

“You’re so cute, Henry!” Zhou Mi mock-squealed, imitating some of the more fervent fangirls who followed the group everywhere they went in the city. “Even the way you dribble is cute!”

“Yeah. I should drool all over your Prada next time, Mimi.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Children,” Han Geng interrupted, his voice exaggeratedly weary. “If you’re going to misbehave, neither of you is going to get a bedtime story from your Big Brother.”

“Ah, ge, if it’s another one of your stories about trying to make kimchi in the dorms with Heechul hyung, I’m not interested, OK?” Henry twisted his features into an eloquent grimace. “Besides, we all know that ends with the pot exploding when the cleaning lady accidentally tipped it over.”

“Aiya! How come this kid has no manners? Be more respectful to your elders!” Han Geng chided, without any real venom. They piled into a waiting taxi and waited for Han Geng to work out their destination with the driver. Squashed with Henry in the backseat of the car, Zhou Mi watched the lights of Beijing twinkle by as they sped back to the dorms. Henry soon fell asleep again and started snoring, his head tipped back and his mouth open. Zhou Mi tugged him into a more comfortable position and put Henry’s head on his shoulder, just to make sure he wouldn’t wake up with a crick in his neck.

Han Geng caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

“We work well together, Mi.”

Zhou Mi flushed at the double entendre.

“Yes, ge.”

After they put Henry to bed (shoes and all, because Henry wouldn’t stay awake long enough for Zhou Mi to pull his sneakers off), Han Geng made sure the rest of the group members were back in the dorm and sleeping. Siwon was still on the phone back to Korea, and muffled noise from Kyuhyun’s room sounded as though he was still up killing monsters.

“Uh, I should,” Zhou Mi gestured to the door of the room he shared with Henry, unsure of how to proceed. “I should probably go and make sure he doesn’t fall off the bed, or something. You know how he gets when he’s drunk. Rolls all over the place and ends up half on the floor and half on the bed and you know how he keeps all his food in the bed? Most of it would be squashed already, and the cleaning aunties told me how it’s such a pain when Henry does that, because there are cockroaches and —”

Han Geng kissed him.

This time, it was sweeter, slower, and Zhou Mi wanted nothing more to just drown in the heady sensation of it all. But then Han Geng pulled away, took Zhou Mi’s hand. Without further words, they managed to find their way to his room and lock the door.

His heart pounding, Zhou Mi let Han Geng push him down onto the bed, his fingers already reaching out to help him undress.

“Ge,” Zhou Mi whispered, as Han Geng stretched out over him, beautiful and naked, the room lit only by the glow of a streetlight outside.

“Shh. Don’t call me that when we’re like this, Mi.”

Zhou Mi didn’t say anything after that. Nothing coherent, anyway.

He didn’t stop smiling the whole time.

*

Whatever it was between them, it hadn’t lasted long. They flew back to Korea and Han Geng was swept up with the rest of Super Junior, recording their new albums and rehearsing for the live comeback stages that were such a staple of the industry. Zhou Mi kicked his heels in the dorms, tried to learn guitar with Henry and Jungmo, wrote lyrics to fit the moods he was in.

Han Geng visited him when he could, but it was barely enough. Most nights he was too tired and Zhou Mi was too lethargic with inertia to start anything. When they finally did have some time to themselves, Han Geng left Zhou Mi’s room in the pre-dawn darkness, the bruises on Zhou Mi’s hips and marks down his back the only mark of his presence. They usually faded before he could stay the night again.

Promoting Super Girl in Taiwan and China, Zhou Mi knew that something had changed, but he wasn’t allowed to know what Jungsoo and Youngwoon had already found out; Han Geng was leaving the group. He didn’t want to be part of the madness any more, couldn’t stand the constant schedules filled with interviews and variety shows. Didn’t want to deal with the unbearable pressure of expectations.

They barely had time to themselves. Han Geng slept in Zhou Mi’s hotel room when they were in Wuhan, and his touches were rougher, the marks more starkly red against Zhou Mi’s pale skin. Later on, in Taipei, Han Geng left bite marks on Zhou Mi’s neck that had to be covered up with a hefty amount of concealer before he even let the stylists put make-up on him. Zhou Mi wondered about homecomings and the nature of return and loss as he patted powder over his neck one morning just before they left for another packed day of meeting fans and smiling for the cameras, even though all of them were about to drop from exhaustion.

“You need another layer; they won’t go away so easily. Bruises always take a while to fade,” Han Geng observed, leaning against the door frame as he watched Zhou Mi primp himself carefully in the mirror. The hotel they were staying at had miserable lighting, but Zhou Mi made the best of what he had at hand, straining his eyes and peering into the cracked mirror. Han Geng left before Zhou Mi could say anything, calling out to Siwon to get Henry into the shower before the driver came to pick them up.

They’d still been a team; Han Geng leading, Zhou Mi helping with translations and smiling at everyone so much he thought his face would split. It worked even better than the first time; Zhou Mi could finally see the conversational gaps that Han Geng missed and filled them with words or a clever phrase or two, or a silly observation. Siwon acted with his eyebrows. Donghae flirted with anything that moved. It felt so natural Zhou Mi was foolish enough to think that they could go on like this forever.

*

But the end came more swiftly than Zhou Mi could have predicted. One night Han Geng had been joining them for hotpot at a local restaurant, where he laughed loudly at Siwon’s attempts to order from the menu in Chinese and bought beers for the support staff. The next night, he’d called the group into the dorm’s common area to break the news to them. It was the end of the Taiwan promotions, everybody had assumed they’d all be going back to Korea in the morning.

Zhou Mi remembers Siwon’s look of devastation at Han Geng’s quiet words, Donghae’s angry tears, Ryeowook’s tortured questions of why going unanswered for the longest time. He could barely bring himself to look at Han Geng. Henry was dumbfounded, his expression thoroughly bewildered, and Zhou Mi put an arm around him, reasoning that even if everything else was out of his control, he could still comfort a younger brother.

“You owe us an explanation, hyung,” Kyuhyun said flatly, after an age of silence.

Han Geng rolled his shoulders, his face closed, a hard glint in his eyes enough warning to anyone else not to try and dig any deeper.

But Kyuhyun was always one to ignore such petty things as non-verbal cues when it suited him.

“Tell us why!” He snapped. “After all we’ve been through, I think you owe to all of us to tell us why you’re just shitting all over us like this!”

“Kyu—” Siwon had started, reaching out, but Kyuhyun had brushed him off.

“You’re the damn leader, hyung!” He spat, and Zhou Mi hadn’t seen Kyuhyun this angry in a long time. The younger man’s face was flushed and his eyes flashed barely repressed fury. “What the fuck, man? You think you’re better than us now, huh? You get treated so nicely here you’ve just decided to forget about the rest of your family and just leave because they kiss your ass and tell you that the sun shines out of it?”

Zhou Mi saw the set of Han Geng’s jaw and realised that the last thread of Han Geng’s self-control was finally about to snap. He leapt to his feet just as Han Geng raised his hand, shoved himself in between the two and, closing his eyes, waited for the blow to land.

It never did. Zhou Mi opened his eyes and saw Han Geng staring at him, mouth slightly open. His palm was barely a centimetre from Zhou Mi’s face. After a beat, Han Geng pulled away, stared past Zhou Mi at some far-distant object.

“You guys don’t understand. I love all of you, OK?”

Kyuhyun snorted just as Ryeowook whimpered.

Han Geng caught Zhou Mi’s eye again and glanced away just as quickly. He looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to everyone. But none of you realise what kind of shit the company’s put me through; I _can’t do this anymore_. I’m not asking any of you to support me, all right? I understand what all this means to you. I just need you to respect my choice. Even if it means you don’t like it. Even if you’ll all stop speaking to me... I’m going to pack my bag now.”

He left the room. Siwon moved behind Zhou Mi and hugged him close. Zhou Mi could feel his tears wetting the back of his shirt. He covered Siwon’s hands with his own.

“Well,” Donghae said brokenly, his voice thick from crying. “I guess that means that’s the end for this group, huh?”

Zhou Mi didn’t disagree. He just stood there with Siwon’s arms around him, feeling his world crumble and collapse as Han Geng’s footsteps echoed down the hallway.

*

They didn’t even spend that last night together. Han Geng tried coming to Zhou Mi’s room long after everyone else had retired to their rooms; Ryeowook trailed disconsolately after Kyuhyun, looking as though he’d been given a death sentence. Donghae and Siwon decided to find some quiet time with a bible and Henry had started playing mournful snatches of music on his violin.

“Go away,” Zhou Mi mumbled, hearing the door open. “You’ve already said all that you needed to say, ge. You don’t need to come here and explain yourself anymore, OK?”

“Mi —”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” Zhou Mi burst out, fear and anxiety roiling inside him, turning his temper short and explosive. He’d been lying on his side in the dark room, shivering despite the thick duvet, but now he sat up to face Han Geng. “You knew, didn’t you? You had to know what would happen if you did this! Henry and I will have nothing left! The others can go back to Korea; everybody loves them there. It doesn’t matter as much to them. But Henry and I have had to fight so hard for the fans’ attention, ge. And now that you’re leaving, they’ll probably disband this group and then what? I go back to Wuhan and try to run a noodle shop? Henry goes back to being some kid in Canada? What you did affects all of us. Some of us much more than others.”

Han Geng swallowed. In the wintery moonlight he suddenly looked a lot older than his twenty-five years. He was tired, Zhou Mi realised. Tired and burdened with too many worries to carry on his own, too many expectations to shoulder. He’d always been the foreigner in a Korean boyband. No amount of language training could make up for the fact that he would always stick out, despite the adoration of the fans and the acceptance of the other members.

“I am being selfish,” Han Geng said. “It’s true, I won’t deny it. But I know that there are better things out there for me. There are better deals for all of us. We shouldn’t have to keep making apologies for not being hardworking enough. And we try so hard to fit in, Mi. What do we get in return?”

Zhou Mi thought of the fans who jeered at him and Henry. Recalled the entire campaign to buy enough stock in SM Entertainment to prevent them from debuting and felt sick to his stomach when he realised Han Geng might have a point. But he’d invested too much into the group to just walk away. Not after everything that he’d gone through just to even get the chance to debut; it’d feel like too much like handing victory to those detractors. And then, there was —

“What about us?” He heard himself say. “What happens to us now? Didn’t we work well enough together, ge?”

Han Geng sighed. Reached out and tipped Zhou Mi’s chin up so he could see his eyes.

“We’ll always work well together, Mi. You’re incredible. But you knew this couldn’t last forever.”

“So I was just a passing dalliance on your journey to self-awareness, then?” Zhou Mi didn’t mean to snap, but once the words left his mouth, he realised just how angry he felt. He pulled his chin out of Han Geng’s grasp. “Did you like playing me for such a sucker, huh? ‘Here’s Mimi, head over heels in love with Han Geng gege. Won’t it be fun to mess with his head and fuck around with him for a while. He’s so grateful for any attention he gets!’”

“It wasn’t like that!” Han Geng actually looked distressed now. He tried to catch hold of Zhou Mi’s fingers, but Zhou Mi pulled free, stung by the gesture. “Stop, Mimi, _please_. I’m trying to explain!”

Zhou Mi turned away. Looked at the patterns in his bedspread, fascinated by the concentric circles of white against a pale cream background. His heart felt like it was about to burst.

“You’ve explained enough, ge. I think you should go.”

Han Geng opened his mouth, reached out his hand. Zhou Mi ignored both, determined not to break this time. He couldn’t risk it anymore.

The atmosphere was so heavy, Zhou Mi was afraid he was going to drown, so he kept his head bent low and started mentally reciting the Tang poems he’d learnt in school, trying to ignore Han Geng.

“Fine.” Han Geng said after a while, his voice shaky. “I’ll go. But, Mimi, you should know; you don’t need me, or fucking Lee Soo Man, or anyone else, OK? You’re wonderful on your own. And —”

Whatever it was, Han Geng never said. He uttered a stifled grunt of frustration, turned on his heel and left.

It took all of Zhou Mi’s willpower not to leap out of the bed after him.

*

Now, even after the distance of a year and a half, Zhou Mi can still picture the stricken look on Han Geng’s face that night and feels a familiar twinge of pain in his own heart.

He tries for humour, again, unsure of what to say to his one-time lover.

“You missed my voice so much? I hope you’ve bought the latest album!”

“Idiot,” Han Geng says good-naturedly. “Of course I did! Did you buy mine?”

Zhou Mi has. Actually, it was Henry who suggested they both buy a copy, away from the rest of the group, on a rare free weekend they’d snatched in between the Super Show. He thinks it was in Bangkok. Seeing Han Geng’s face staring out at him was a bit of a shock, to say the least. But he’d ripped the tracks off the CD and listened to them on his MP3 player as he waited with Henry for their solo performances on tour.

“Sounds like Geng ge had a lot of people helping him with the album,” Henry said one night, while they were trying to sleep. The hotel they were staying in was right in the middle of downtown Kuala Lumpur. The sounds of the traffic outside bled through the thick double-glazed windows. “I wonder if he still thinks about us.”

Zhou Mi made a non-commital noise and turned off his player.

“I’m going to sleep,” he’d said pointedly, and that had been that.

“So?” He asks now, as thunder rumbles ominously overhead. “Apart from you missing my wondrous voice, which is only natural, why are you calling, ge?”

There is a hiss of static, and Zhou Mi catches the end of whatever Han Geng was saying. Something to do with concerts and audiences.

“Huh?”

“Damn connection,” Han Geng mutters. “I said, I’m having a small concert here in your hometown. Hopefully your masses of fans will be nice to me.”

So, he really is in Wuhan. Zhou Mi tries to reconcile the memory of his mother’s home with the image of Han Geng in his bedroom from that last night so many months ago, and suddenly feels lost and uncertain of himself all over again, like it’s he’s standing on a stage, trying to sing Han Geng’s lines, and the audience is calling for his blood. Han Geng was such a huge presence in his life for so long, and then he wasn’t there anymore, and now he’s back in Zhou Mi’s hometown, even though Zhou Mi hasn’t been able to return as often as he’d like to…

Zhou Mi flops back down on the bed, his head reeling.

“I’m sure they’ll love you,” he hears himself saying. “They always liked you so much. But you don’t need to waste money calling me over such a long distance just because you’re over there. I’m sure this is costing you a lot.”

“It’s not so bad.” There is a pause on the other end of the line. It goes on for so long he almost thinks the line has cut out. “Mi, I’m not just calling because I happen to be in Wuhan and the last music shop I went into had your new album poster plastered on all the walls, OK?”

“Um,” Zhou Mi says, not feeling especially eloquent. “It isn’t?”

“I miss you, Mi.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. Too much has passed since they last had a proper conversation for Zhou Mi to just laugh and say the same. Faceless fans have denounced him on message boards and booed him at concerts, just because he tried to take over what Han Geng had left behind, so that the rest of the group could continue with their lives. Then the company forbade him or Henry from giving interviews related to the lawsuit. Zhou Mi was afraid of disappearing, as though he’d never come to Korea or debuted with Super Junior, as if he was some sort of remnant of the past to be thrown out with the last traces of Han Geng at SM Entertainment.

But he recalls the press of Han Geng’s skin against his, how they shared secrets in the darkest hours of the night and how they would talk about any and every subject under the sun, whilst the rest of the members snoozed on the way to yet another variety show taping. The way that Han Geng would drape an arm over his shoulders with an easy familiarity.

“Did you hear me?” Han Geng asks, when Zhou Mi doesn’t say anything. “I know it’s the last thing you need to hear now, Mi. I mean, I remember what those schedules are like, and I bet you’re still having to hold things together because Henry’s not been practising his Chinese as often as he should. But I just landed here this afternoon, and I remember you telling me about that noodle shop you were supposed to own one day…”

Zhou Mi can still recall that entire conversation. It had been late (it was always late whenever they got any kind of private time), and Han Geng had come to visit Zhou Mi’s dorm with Heechul, bringing a bottle of soju that Heechul immediately commandeered for drinking with Jungmo, while Han Geng went into Zhou Mi’s room on the pretence of wanting to talk to him about some song lyrics. They’d made love hastily, Han Geng’s hand on Zhou Mi’s mouth, his teeth digging into Zhou Mi’s shoulder as he came.

Afterwards, Zhou Mi basked in the warm glow of contentment, his head pillowed on Han Geng’s chest, and outlined his fallback plans for opening a noodle shop if life as an idol ever became too much for him to handle. He’d made it as far as listing the different sorts of noodles he’d sell in his shop (they’d be arranged on the menu by region), and what kind of decor they’d have (some kind of neo-Chinoiserie, he thought), before Han Geng told him to shut up, suiting action to words by rolling on top of him and kissing Zhou Mi’s mouth firmly.

“Do you remember where you said you wanted to open it?”

“Of course!” Zhou Mi says, embarrassed that Han Geng still remembers his half-thought out fantasy. “About five hundred metres down from the traffic junction on the east side of my mother’s apartment block!”

“So precise,” Han Geng teases, his voice warm. Despite himself, Zhou Mi giggles. “You never told me where you stayed in Wuhan, though.”

Zhou Mi’s heart leaps in his chest. _Stupid _, he tells himself, _don’t let yourself get caught up in all this nonsense again, Mi.___

The frustrating thing is that, although Zhou Mi listens to his gut instincts most of the time, he’s always been useless when it comes to paying attention to it when it comes to matters of the heart. Even though his head is screaming that Han Geng could just be playing him for a fool, he still finds himself wearing the most massive grin. Zhou Mi is sure that if Kyuhyun could see him now, he’d tell Zhou Mi that he looks like a demented sociopath.

To be fair, he tells most of the group members that.

“Ah, it’s sort of hard to explain if you don’t know the neighbourhoods that well.” Zhou Mi tries describing his mother’s unit in a new housing development that he helped her put a deposit on (he still helps with the monthly repayments), but it’s too confusing, and Han Geng tries to follow his half-remembered directions until they both give up. “I’m sorry, ge. I wish I could describe it better to you.”

“Don’t worry,” Han Geng tells him. He sounds sincere. “It’s a pity you guys aren’t touring around here the same time as me.”

Zhou Mi sniffs. “I think that was a decision made by the management.”

“You’re right. Maybe next time, then.”

Next time? Next time, when? When they’re both too old to be screamed at by over-excited fans? When Han Geng’s lawsuit is finally settled? When hell decides to install air-conditioners?

But what Zhou Mi says is, “Of course. Next time we’re both in Wuhan, I’ll show you where my noodle shop will be.”

“For when you’re old and rich?” There’s that teasing tone again, the one that makes Zhou Mi’s stomach do flip-flops. They laugh, and Zhou Mi makes an offhand quip about pencilling that tour into his schedule (even though his schedule is solidly booked up for the next six months, and he has no doubt that Han Geng’s is even more tightly packed). He giggles, but Han Geng doesn’t.

“Seriously, Mi. I want to see you again.”

Suddenly, Han Geng has never seemed so far away. Zhou Mi closes his eyes and slams a fist down against the bed. This shouldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t be wanting to see Han Geng quite as badly as this.

“I do too, ge,” he mumbles, voice small. “I think about you quite a lot.”

Well, now he’s admitted it, and Han Geng can chide him for being so stupid, still having schoolboy crushes. And he’ll come to his senses and say not to be silly, that they both have so much going on that it would be madness to even try and find an improbable gap in their schedules.

The thing is, even if Zhou Mi repeats these facts to himself, and halfway believes that he actually does want nothing more to do with Han Geng, there is still the small matter of how he _feels_ about everything. And that is proving harder to control. For a perfectionist like Zhou Mi, his inability to properly clamp down on every small detail of his life (though he would never say Han Geng was a _small_ part of his life — because that would be a blatant lie) frustrates him beyond measure.

But he can’t stop wanting Han Geng. It’s something that Zhou Mi only admits to himself when he feels as though he could drown from all the stress and pressure of promoting a new album again. Henry is a good companion to have when he feels lost amongst the rest of the group, despite finally being fluent enough in Korean, but it’s not the same as being able to count on Han Geng’s experience and his calming influence when tensions run high.

“Do you think, when we meet up, we could try and start again?” Han Geng asks, and Zhou Mi has to strain to hear him because there is a roar from outside his door and the sound of shattering glass. Kyuhyun’s football match must be going well. “I wasn’t fair to you, Mi. I dumped all my issues on you when I left and expected you to deal with them. You deserve more than that; at least let me try to be better this time, huh?”

 _It’s impossible,_ the reasonable part of Zhou Mi’s mind screams. _When on earth will you find the time, the energy? Don’t be such a stupid fool —_

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, ge.”

It comes out sounding spikier than he meant.

“Who says I can’t?” Han Geng sounds a little offended, but moderates his tone. “I know it’s probably impossible, Mi. I’m not asking you to say yes right now; Heaven knows when we’ll be able to see each other next time. I just want you to think about it.”

Zhou Mi already does, when the rest of the group members are asleep and he wakes up from some mad dream where Han Geng has come back to them. He always finds it hard to go back to sleep afterwards, too scared that his mind will conjure up some other fantasy scenario that he’ll eventually have to wake up from.

Right now, he cradles his mobile against his shoulder and pinches the skin of his inner wrist hard, leaving a dull arc of red. No, he’s still awake. Time to take charge of things; Han Geng’s absence has given him enough practise.

“So, what is this, ge? You’re asking me to possibly think about going out with you again, when you magically get some time off from being China’s next big super idol, and you say you’ll be nicer to me this time, is that it?”

Han Geng snorts.

“You’re sharper than I remember.”

“You leaving made me this way,” Zhou Mi snaps, hackles rising. He takes a breath. “No, ge. That shouldn’t be the way we do things.”

“Oh?”

During the upheaval of the past year, Zhou Mi has learnt far more than he’s ever needed to know about negotiating good deals, both for himself and the rest of the group members. He’s managed to wrangle two free nights a week out of their manager, have a photoshoot cut from five hours to three, get the rest of the members access to Donghae and Siwon on the set of their drama, and have Henry shower more regularly. The last had been a group effort (though it had been Zhou Mi’s initial idea) with everyone throwing Henry’s dirty laundry at him until he caved in and allowed himself to be pushed into the shower stall.

“If you’re serious, ge, why don’t we fix a time now?” It’s a wild stab in the dark, but Zhou Mi thinks that Han Geng should be given a chance to prove that he’s being serious. “Look, why don’t you tell your management team that you need to stop holding concerts and filming movies for a while, huh? I’ve got some time coming up in July. I’ll be going back to Beijing, you can meet me there. Take me out for dumplings.”

The line is silent for a while, and Zhou Mi feels his stomach sinking when he realises that Han Geng might have been lying about wanting to try again.

“And I thought I was being impulsive,” Han Geng says eventually. Zhou Mi can picture him smiling. “Shit. I… OK. Why not. It’s not like I’m going to die from not filming another movie... How come you’re being so romantic? You sound like something out of a Hugh Grant movie.”

“I don’t!” Zhou Mi protests. “I just want to have concrete details worked out! You — you can’t just say, ‘oh, maybe when we have time we can perhaps, maybe, try to possibly start seeing each other again’! That’s not fair! I mean, ge is lucky I’m even talking to him! At least one of us is being serious about this.”

Han Geng’s chuckle is audible, despite Ryeowook’s sudden squeal from outside and a subsequent chorus of pleas for him to shut up.

“Relax, Mi. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so vague. You’re right. Let’s work this out now.”

Zhou Mi huffs, but doesn’t say anything.

It takes them nearly half an hour to work out a possible meeting in Beijing during the summer, and with his heart pounding loudly in his ears, Zhou Mi finally pencils the date into his slim pocket diary. He’ll have to cancel a shopping trip, but there are some things that come along more rarely than a visit to a flea market. Even a very obscure flea market, where the latest indie designers are known to sell off samples.

“Will you tell the others I say hello?” Han Geng asks, as Zhou Mi double checks the address of Han Geng’s mother’s dumpling shop.

“Of course.”

“And Mi?” Han Geng sounds so close, and yet so far away. Zhou Mi wishes he could reach through the bands of telephone signals and draw Han Geng closer to him. “Next time, you take me to your noodle shop in Wuhan.”

Outside, the rain has begun to fall. It comes down in sheets, crashing to the ground almost explosively. Zhou Mi swallows, wishes he could take Han Geng’s hand in his own, tell him how much he’s missed him, how much he wishes things were different.

But that can come later. It _will_ come to pass. Zhou Mi knows this for certain now. He basks in this knowledge cautiously, too afraid that it will shatter if he isn’t careful.

“Definitely.”

They finally end the call, and Zhou Mi gets up on weak legs to shut the window before the rain comes in.

Just then, Hyukjae bursts through the door. Sungmin follows close behind. For a moment, Zhou Mi fears for the safety of his clothes, but then he sees the wide grins on their faces.

“We won!” Sungmin squeals and Hyukjae nods along, his smile wide and gummy. “Zhou Mi-ssi, come outside! Me and Hyukkie finally won our bet with Kyu!”

There is a bottle of wine on the dining table when Zhou Mi follows them out of his room. Kyuhyun looks despondent. Ryeowook is trying to comfort him; their fingers are interlaced and Zhou Mi notes that this must be quite a disappointment if Kyuhyun isn’t trying to pull his hand free.

“So, who was it that lost this time?” Zhou Mi asks, as Sungmin uncorks the bottle with glee and Hyukjae scrambles in the kitchen for glasses. “Barcelona? Real Madrid?”

“Valencia beat Barcelona,” Kyuhyun bites out. Ryeowook throws Zhou Mi a warning look. Best not to probe that fresh wound.

“Ah.”

Just then, Siwon and Donghae come in, soaked despite the fact that they should have been chauffeured from the set. Siwon’s white shirt has become translucent and it clings to his body, outlining the contours of his sculpted torso. He looks like he stepped out from the pages of a fashion magazine. Donghae is more rumpled, his wet jeans sloshing on the floor as he slugs down Sungmin’s glass of wine, despite a loud protest.

“Don’t ask,” Donghae stage-whispers to Sungmin. “It’ll only inflate His High Shisus’ huge ego.”

Siwon throws the bottle cork at him. It hits Hyukjae square in the chest instead. Henry hoots with laughter.

Everybody’s back at the dorms. Zhou Mi feels his family gather around him, and for the first time in a long while, doesn’t find that anything else is missing in his life. He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and reaches forward to take the glass of wine Sungmin holds out.

He can’t stop smiling.


End file.
